


Celebration

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Lestrade-centric, Multi, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So...What's going on?" he asked, confused as to why Anthea had stopped in front of a certain door. "Am I in some sort of trouble or something?" he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Mycroft Holmes was the only man on earth that could make him well and truly nervous.</p><p>"Not at all," the woman replied, "In fact, this is more of a...celebratory occasion."</p><p>"Really?" the DI raised an eyebrow. "What're we celebrating?"</p><p>"Well," the woman's smirk widened, and she opened the door. "You."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebration

**Author's Note:**

> For [Lory](loryisunabletosupinate.tumblr.com)

Gregory Lestrade was a lot of things.

A husband (well, formerly), a father (forever), a DI, a rather attractive bloke...

And completely taken aback at the scene unfolding before him. 

When he'd gotten the text from Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft, that morning, he was slightly apprehensive. It wasn't anything special, nor out of the ordinary, but there did seem to be something...off about it.

_My brother's flat. Two hours. Be showered and dressed. You know where it is. -SH_

The abruptness of the text itself wasn't odd, but something behind it... Greg shrugged; probably just his own paranoia making him skittish. Though it wasn't unfounded; the man _had_ kidnapped him on multiple occasions, and Sherlock had done far worse in his book. 

He managed to set aside the nervous feeling in the pit of his belly, shower (quite thoroughly, he didn't know what the hell he was in for), dress, and have his breakfast. The fact that he'd recently gone shopping meant there were plenty of options, and he decided on an omelet. Simple, quick, and he could use up the remainder of the mushrooms from his previous night's dinner. 

Feeling rather full, he made his way out to his car and slid inside, feeling a bit of the nervousness return.

He pushed it off and began to drive. 

**

The silver-haired DI knocked on the door of the well-maintained, and quite beautiful building, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He wasn't usually this uneasy, he noted; perhaps he was just having an off morning. 

The door opened, and revealed a tall (nearly his height in low heels) woman, green eyes staring at him in an amused manner, a slight smirk on her face. He recognized her as Mycroft's PA. Perhaps this _was_ simply a business meeting, and not a ploy to do some sort of experiment on him. 

"Detective Inspector," she said, her voice smooth, calm. "We've been expecting you. Please, step right inside."

She stepped aside, gesturing for Greg to enter the building, which he did, giving her a nod as she closed the door behind him. "This way," she said, brushing her hand against his sleeve in what anyone else would think was simply an accidental manner. With Anthea, however, every move was calculated; she made no mistakes, it was why Mycroft was so fond of having her around. 

The pair made their way down a long hallway, and Greg nervously cleared his throat. "So...What's going on?" he asked, confused as to why Anthea had stopped in front of a certain door. "Am I in some sort of trouble or something?" he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Mycroft Holmes was the only man on earth that could make him well and truly nervous. 

"Not at all," the woman replied, "In fact, this is more of a...celebratory occasion."

"Really?" the DI raised an eyebrow. "What're we celebrating?"

"Well," the woman's smirk widened, and she opened the door. "You."

**

The DI wasn't usually this compliant.

Really, he wasn't. 

But the way Anthea had maneuvered (let's face it, manipulated) him into the reclining chair in the middle of the room had caused him to lose all cognitive thought for a moment. He knew the woman had a sharp tongue; he simply had no idea just how talented it was. Despite being nervous, as these were his _coworkers_ and _friends_ after all, he was excited to see how the muscle currently occupying his mouth did in other, more...pleasing situations. 

"So," the slender brunette breathed as she separated her lips from his. "This." she gestured around the room at the familiar faces, "Is a celebration of you, Detective Inspector." She trailed her lips down to his neck, her tongue darting out to lick along the muscles protruding from it due to Greg's arching back. 

"I can see that," the silver-haired man managed, "But...You're all..."

"Oh, do shut up, Lestrade." a deep baritone, right next to his ear, caused Greg to stop squirming and simply relax against the fabric of the chair. "Tedious."

Oh. Fuck.

Greg turned his head slightly, and, upon seeing Sherlock's plump, beautifully-shaped lips so close to his own, he couldn't help but kiss them, marveling at the way they felt, tasted; it was brilliant, simply fantastic. He barely noticed the long-fingered hand trailing down his chest, untucking his shirt, or the other, less-graceful one fumbling with his buttons. Anthea's fingernails gently scratched down his abdomen, leaving the faintest of trails, while John's moved up to his shoulders as he stood behind the man, massaging them gently. 

The cool air hit his chest, and he sucked in a breath between kisses, both hands now tangled in Sherlock's curls. He could practically feel the man observing, calculating, cataloging. It was maddening. Simply and utterly maddening. He didn't notice the approach of the government official, nor did he notice Sally Donovan removing his shoes until it was far too late to tell any of them to stop. Hands, mouths, fingers; they were everywhere. Soon enough, he'd been rid of his jacket, both shoes and socks, and had a completely open shirt, expanse of silver chest hair and soft, erect nipples exposed to the rapidly warming air. 

"Gregory," came a voice very close to the ear that wasn't currently being sucked on by Sherlock. "I believe you are overdressed for the festivities." Mycroft's steel-grey eyes traveled up Greg's face, meeting his soft brown ones. Greg swallowed; fuck, Mycroft was even more gorgeous up close. And were those...freckles? 

"You said it," he reached up, slipping his fingers into Mycroft's auburn curls, bringing him down for a kiss. Briefly, in the back of his mind, he wondered whether or not it was even legal to be kissing both brothers at once. But then, there were hands fumbling at his fly, and then his cock, and he lost all sense of right and wrong. 

Forcing his eyes open, he looked down, spotting both Sally and Anthea fondling his cock and balls, respectively. He couldn't take his eyes off of the pair, even when Mycroft was obviously trying to regain his attention. 

He watched as Sally's dark hand moved over the head of his cock, hiding it from view, a wave of pleasure going all the way up his spine.

"Oh, fu-"

"Shut up." Another voice, distinctly female, right beside the ear that Mycroft had evidently moved away from. A second ginger, his loyal pathologist, came into view, wearing a yellow cardigan and her favourite pale pink shirt. The outfit matched nicely, he would note later; for now, he could do nothing except focus on the mouth currently closing around his untouched left nipple, and the soft tongue flicking over it. 

"Fuck-"

"Do shut up, Inspector," Anthea purred, dipping her head down below Sally's magical hands, urging the DI to hook his legs over her shoulders. Greg didn't know how they were doing it; John behind him, rubbing at his scalp and shoulders (which was surprisingly erotic, even compared to what the others were doing), Sally fondling his cock, Anthea doing something lower (what, he didn't know just yet), a Holmes at each ear, nibbling and sucking, with Mycroft occasionally leaning down to suck at the DI's neglected pectoral muscles and collarbone. He'll have bruises tomorrow, big ones. But right now, he's a bit too focused on what seems to be a tongue probing his entrance. 

"Anthea...Oh, god," the man tipped his head back further, his head coming into contact with the woolen jumper currently being worn by John, who leaned down to give him a quick yet thoroughly passionate kiss; he tasted of tea and toast and _John_. That, compared with the stimulation at both nipples, in his arse, on his cock, and at his ears, made the fire in his belly grow exponentially more. He blushed, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind how embarrassing it would be to be known to his colleagues as a 'minuteman'. Then again, they _were_ all currently very intent on pleasing him, so it couldn't be too bad. 

Every nerve ending was on fire; every part of him both ached to come and wanted to draw the pleasure out as long as possible, because god _damn_ it, it felt so good. 

Then, suddenly, there was a mouth on his cock; the heat, wetness, and gorgeous crop of messy, kinky curls currently bobbing up and down on his prick tipped him over the edge, and he felt the warmth disappear as he came, eyes clenching shut, shoulders rolling back, and a loud cry escaping his lips as his entire body tensed at once. It was too much, a sensory overload, and he'd never felt more _alive_ in his entire life. 

After what seemed like an eternity of coming, he collapsed back against the chair, out of breath and thoroughly exhausted. Once he'd regained his ability to see, he turned his head to the side, noticing that the others in the room hadn't left his side; in fact, they seemed closer than before. Molly backed off first, then John, Sherlock, Sally, Anthea, and finally, Mycroft. 

He swallowed; for the first time since this...whatever it was had begun, he was nervous. "So..." he murmured, "That was...Lovely. Really lovely. Thanks." He really didn't know what to say, in a situation like this.

"Was?" a voice from the doorway, again, distinctly female, made him turn his head nearly all the way around in surprise. A familiar head of dark brown hair, a thin frame, and the distinct shape of a riding crop in her hands made his eyes widen with both surprise and interest. "Oh, my dear Inspector," Irene murmured, taking several elegant steps toward the DI before trailing the riding crop down his chest and over his cock.

"We've only just begun."


End file.
